


The Punishement

by MissLee



Series: Sugar Daddy John 'Verse [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Impact Play, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Punishment, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Sugar Daddy John, Top John, Twink Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 06:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLee/pseuds/MissLee
Summary: Sherlock is being punished for being a whore and meets Sugar Daddy John along the way. Sex ensues."Ah!" The pain he felt upon impact flared and stung but he was immensely thankful for it as he felt his Earth still and the planets align, finally, after what felt like hours of swimming through glorious arousal."





	The Punishement

**Author's Note:**

> ITS FINALLY DONE! This is what I've been promising for the past couple of weeks, I hope you enjoy! (Also please let me know if you think any tags need adding and also how you found this fic; thank you!)
> 
> Ps. Imagine the look of S4 John (as if you weren't already; S4 John is hot af)

"Behave Sherlock!" Mycroft hissed, "You are not here to embarrass the family with your ridiculous notions of 'fun'."

"Yes, Brother Mine," Sherlock huffed, "I am here because I upset Mummy, _I know_." He turned his attention back to the ballroom (some Lords mansion) to which he had been sentenced for the evening to survey his options. Rich men and women floated around gracefully with the air Sherlock had come to expect from Mycrofts toffee-nosed twats of 'friends'. How dull. 

"Yes Sherlock, you upset her gravely with your... liberal activities as of late.  _Now stop acting like a tart_." Mycroft finished with a scowl and turned on his heel back to his own brand of 'schmoozing', cultivated through several years at his fathers side and now a few months of his own working for the government.

So far that evening, Sherlock had flirted his way through seven conversations with moderately handsome but incredibly wealthy men, wives at their sides, and had gotten nearly twice as many offers of free drinks out of it for his efforts. Not to mention the sly introduction of a business card or two with messily scrawled mobile numbers on them into his pocket, accompanied sometimes by a wink and at others a suggestive pinch to his arse. Truly his punishment was shaping up to be quite entertaining for him, watching as pathetic men scrambled for the attention of a pretty, young twink. 

It was then, after a short trip to the bar where he was greeted with the offer of, "Anything you like, sexy," and a predatory scan of his taut, lithe body that he spotted him. 

He - the yet to be named but handsome, obvious ex-army doctor turned private surgeon - was standing at parade rest looking as dejected as he could possibly get away with, entered into a conversation with the host and hostess. Perhaps he only seemed dejected to Sherlock though, as Lord and Lady Thornhill seemed ecstatic with his company. 

 _Well,_ Sherlock thought, _I could always go and rescue him._

Without a second glance at the withering viscount desperately clamouring for his interest, Sherlock swept through the crowd and across the room to his undertaking. 

"Lord Thornhill," he began with the barest hint of a put upon sympathetic tone, "I do believe my brother was looking for you a moment ago." 

The man seemed surprised but his wife just looked knowingly at Sherlock.

"Oh was he? I suppose I ought to appease him then." Sherlock gave a pleasant (but carefully noncommittal) hum of assent before Lord Thornhill turned back to the doctor. "Apologies Doctor Watson but it seems I'm needed, we'll continue our discussion later. In the meantime; I think you should meet Lord Carlisle, he's been dying to talk to you about... something or other." 

Lady Thornhill cast a meaningful look to the bar and then levelled her gaze at Sherlock, "Weren't you just acquainting yourself with Lord Carlisle, Mr Holmes?"

Doctor Watson licked his lips to hide his smirk but Sherlock didn't miss the gleam of amusement in his stormy cobalt eyes as he too flicked his gaze over to the bar behind Sherlock where the viscount was perched, still looking at Sherlocks arse clad in criminally tight black trousers. 

Sherlock did his best not to appear flustered as his intentions were partially revealed to their small group. Instead of acknowledging Lady Thornhill (his brother would be furious), he simply turned to Doctor Watson with his hand outstretched and a coy smile on his face. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Doctor John Watson," they shook hands and Johns grip was firm and dry, "But 'Sir' will do. For now," he added with a coquettish pull of his lips and dropped Sherlocks hand. 

For once Sherlock didn't have to affect a playfully scandalised look for the statement gave him real pause. His cheeks flushed slightly; no one had ever piqued his interest so spectacularly before. Other men, _older_ men, he'd had encounters with in the past always endeavoured to treat him as if he would break, like glass, and he was _bored -_ itwas one of the reasons for his recent escapades into the world of London nightlife and 'liberal activities' as Mycroft called them (such as going home with people he barely knew and returning home at all hours of the day and night). Inevitable that it should upset Mummy - maybe this charming, attractive man would show him something new. 

"Yes Sir," he just about got out as Lord and Lady Thornhill excused themselves. 

"So," Doctor Watson began, "what's a pretty thing like you doing here?"

Sherlock felt a flush burn through his cheeks. "Punishment, Sir." At that the doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

"Punishment hmm? Like punishment do you?" 

He looked away as his cheeks burned brighter and his throat itched slightly and replied: "Sometimes Sir." Sherlock remembered the last _real_ punishment he'd gotten, remembered the way his arse had smarted for days afterwards. He shivered at the memory. 

John didn't miss it. 

"You know, Sherlock, I've been watching you this evening." He paused for a moment to lick his bottom lip, "It seems to me you've been having far too much fun for it really to be effective, don't you think?" John stared at Sherlock expectantly, noting the way his breath hitched slightly and the way his verdigris eyes darkened. 

Sherlock did his best to look ashamed when really his veins were thrumming with anticipation. "Yes Sir, you're right Sir," he muttered quietly, his eyes glued to the floor. 

John stepped towards him then, fingers going to Sherlocks left wrist, taking his pulse. Elevated. "My my, you really do deserve to be punished," John murmured in his ear; he was blushing furiously now. "Don't you, boy?" The moniker hung in the air filled with promise that made him weak at the knees. "How old are you, Sherlock?" 

He swallowed audibly, "T-twenty two, Sir." 

"Don't lie to me boy." 

"Nineteen, Sir."

John stepped back, looking smug, "That's what I thought. I am a professional, you know." 

Sherlocks eyes brightened at the chance to show off. "Yes, I did know, Sir. You're an ex-army doctor based on your haircut, current occupation, and the way you hold yourself. You were invalided home going by your age and time spent initially training to be a surgeon as you can't have completed the requisite twenty two years to be discharged from service. Additionally, you favour your right arm; shot in the left perhaps?" He stood back to take in Johns expression, searching for the normal offence and hostility. Instead he found a definite look of surprise but also... one of awe? 

"That... was amazing."

This time it was Sherlocks turn to look surprised. "Really, Sir?" 

John smiled, his eyes shone as though he had just been given a gift, "Fantastic, completely amazing. You're a lot more than most give you credit for, aren't you? But I saw it; your eyes are sharp and aware and you stand as though you own the place. I have no doubt you could, if you wanted to." His voice dropped seductively in pitch towards the end and Sherlock felt his dying blush rekindle at full force.

"Thank you, Sir," he replied breathily and averted his eyes. 

John considered for a moment before leaning in to murmur: "I think you should come with me." With that he pressed a hand to the small of Sherlocks back and led him out into the cool, night air after weaving through throngs of people, all of whom were shooting a mix of jealous and disapproving glares at John. 

The car they got into was in a word: Stunning. Gorgeous, sleek, gunmetal grey with a metallic finish and an interior he could melt into (the feeling entirely amplified by the doctors dominating presence). Later, he learned it was an Aston Martin DB11. 

They drove away from the almost unbearably empty countryside and back into the hustle and bustle of London. Sherlock recognised some of the clubs as they passed and definitely didn't miss the way he would have been accosted by several strangers all in one night. 

As they drove on a while longer, Sherlock became increasingly aware of the doctors warm palm resting just north of his knee, so much so, that he nearly missed where they were. "That's Hyde Park isn't it?" He asked excitedly; he loved Hyde Park and had done since he was small. It had felt so enormous to his six-year-old self but now he just enjoyed the atmosphere.  

John glanced over breifly to see the way the city lights reflected into Sherlocks irises, "Yes, do you like it?"

"I've always liked it, Sir, although it gets a bit crowded at times." 

"'Crowded' not your thing?" 

"No," Sherlock paused to bite his plump lower lip and just caught Johns eye before continuing; "I prefer gatherings of a more... intimate nature." He felt Johns firm grip on his thigh tighten for a moment, heard the long drawn in breath that followed. 

"Oh, you _are_ a naughty one," John positively growled. 

Sherlock swore he could practically feel his pupils dilate, "The naughtiest, Sir."

Thank god the car rolled to a stop around the next corner. 

Sherlock found himself on a street in Mayfair. The bright white building they'd pulled up to was plunged into darkness except for the glittering lights wrapped around several decorative columns. 

"Impressed?" John asked with a smirk as they got out of the car with its lush interior and looked up towards the very top of the luxury apartments. 

"Extremely, Sir," he sighed with a dazed look across his face. 

"Enough of that now, boy," Johns sharp tone jolted him out of his trance and back down to Earth where his incredibly handsome doctor was devouring him with dark eyes. "I seem to remember something about a punishment." 

Sherlock swallowed and held his gaze to the floor as John continued to give him a dominating stare. He felt his knees weaken under the pressure. "Yes Sir."

Performing the same move he'd previously employed at the party, John strode over and replaced his hand firmly to the small of Sherlocks back and pressed him forward so quickly Sherlock nearly stumbled into the door of the foyer which only made his cheeks turn red. 

Ushering Sherlock inside with a quietly smug look on his face didn't go unnoticed by the concierge. With a wink John tossed his keys at Tom, the man in charge, and urged his prize into a (blessedly) empty lift. 

Pressing the button for the top floor also pushed Sherlock into the wall, putting John mere centimetres away from the breathtakingly pale column of pure marble that was Sherlocks neck. John - who was never one to miss such a golden opportunity - immediately began sucking, licking, and biting; desperately wanting to mark this boy as _his_.

Sherlock stiffened at first with the proximity but quickly melted under the doctors touch. He gave into the urge to lean his head back to expose more of his throat, shutting his eyes tightly and groaning languidly. 

"Oh... Sir..." He moaned as he felt Johns burgeoning erection press into his thigh. 

A low feral growl ripped from Johns throat and his cock throbbed at how helpless his boy sounded. 

At that exact moment the lift came to a stop. 

John grabbed Sherlocks hips with both hands and yanked him roughly into the expanse of the living space illuminated by dim orange lights. He pushed him back against the closest wall and claimed his lips in a fierce, biting kiss. 

The kiss was frantic and desperate. It was a conglomeration of all the nights emotions and feelings and longing glances all at once. John could feel himself getting lost in it so he parted them after a moment to catch their breath. He noted the deep flush blazing a trial down Sherlocks neck and disappearing beneath a royal aubergine shirt. "Safeword?" He rumbled.

"Atom," Sherlock panted.

John pulled away slightly and Sherlock whined at the loss. "So desperate for me, aren't you, boy?" 

Gazing at John with a dazed look and wide blown pupils he could only nod. 

"You're sure you want this? I can be quite... rough with my toys..." 

"Yes, please Sir! Be rough with me, punish me please!" He keened breathily.

Trailing a hand down from his clavicle to one pert nipple John pinched at it lightly and reveled in the frenzied breath it earned him. "So responsive. I'm going to have fun with you, boy."

Grabbing his left wrist John tugged him towards a relatively nondescript mahogany bookcase. Frantically trying to stablise himself on suddenly unsteady legs, Sherlock almost missed the grand reveal of Johns playroom. 

The space itself was somewhat narrow but still massive in comparison to most people's definitions of 'roomy'. With a high and cavernous ceiling he would no doubt be lost to upon future encounters, the room managed to feel intimate in a way one wouldn't have expected. A large king sized bed with dark rosewood posts and a high, plush, deep forest green quilted headboard encompassed the far wall directiy opposite him. To compliment the rich green was a soft black leather mattress.

Adorning the rest of the room were every assortment of toys a dom would need as well as other interesting looking pieces of furniture and apparatus. Sherlock stilled when his eyes fell on an array of floggers. 

John noticed. 

With a smirk plastered on his face and the foggy beginnings of a plan emerging, John wandered over to his expensive collection of whips and floggers mounted on the wall. "Like these do you, boy?"

Still staring straight at the largest one Sherlock replied: "Yes, Sir. Very much."

While Sherlock was still fairly entranced by the reveal of the playroom John had walked over to an opulent dresser where his collection of ropes, silk ribbons, blindfolds and other accessories were kept. After perusing for a moment he selected one of his favourite lengths of rope; rich green (to match the headboard) shot through with gold, and began unravelling it. 

"Familiar with rope bondage, boy?" He asked after a minute of admiring Sherlocks angelic features. 

Slowly turning towards the sharp commanding voice of the doctor, Sherlock was met with a fierce, calculating look so often worn on his own face. "Only in theory, Sir."

"Excellent," a pause, "a new experience for you."

Suddenly, his whole demeanour changed and he was firmly within his Captain Watson mindset. Sherlock watched the shift intently and his pulse quickened when he was then fixed with a hard, unforgiving stare perfected over years of barking orders to subordinates. 

"Strip."

Quickly Sherlock obeyed and brought one pale hand up to his shirt buttons and began undoing them, trying not to let John see the slight tremble in his fingers. The excitement curling its way through his spine made his veins thrum as he pulled the silk from his shoulders. It hit the hardwood flooring with a soft thud and was followed shortly after by a pair of soft leather shoes, black socks, aforementioned ridiculously tight tailored trousers (courtesy of Mycroft), and gorgeously tiny purple boxer briefs that did nothing to disguise his growing hardness and perfectly formed arse. Beautiful, smooth, entirely hairless, seemingly with all the innocence of a virgin when really he was far from it. 

"Aren't you a vision? Flushed, hard... aching for me."

John began a slow, steady prowl towards him, the rope taut between his strong hands. 

"Turn around, arms behind your back, hands grasping your inner forearms," came the low command. 

He turned carefully and obeyed without a sound. John looped the rope around his arms and across his chest in a box-tie. The position forced his back to arch gracefully, reaffirming already perfect posture. 

Sherlock took a step back and watched as John went and plucked the largest flogger from the wall. Twenty eight inches with a gleaming African Blackwood handle and biting leather tails. His favourite. 

Johns face when he turned back to Sherlock was suddenly stony and with a frisson of panic he realised he hadn't been directed to move. 

"Tut tut, Sherlock. You know I think that's extra," a pause as he gestured to the bed, "now, I want your chest to the mattress and your hips just to the edge, but your arse in the air and knees spread." When Sherlock didn't obey immediately John grinned and added: "Go."

On unsteady legs (partly due to the headiness of arousal, partly to the fact the tie put him a little off-balance) he collapsed chest first onto the mattress and pulled his long legs up beneath him and spread his thighs leaving him entirely exposed and on display, cock hanging heavy, pulling down towards the Earths core. John came up behind him and even in his compromised state, he still heard a dark chuckle as a cold metal ring was slipped over the tip of his cock and down to the base. _When had he retrieved that?!_ Sherlock let out an undignified whine as the ring was secured and John stepped back. 

"Whining and panting already..." He smiled and took up position with his flogger. "Ready, boy?" He bit out. 

"Yes Sir," came the breathless reply. 

The first strike was light and teasing but still he gasped. John continued with relatively soft strokes that grazed Sherlocks entrance and left his skin warm and pink. 

"Please Sir, more, I need more," he whimpered helplessly. He was high on endorphins and desperate for something to ground him through the haze of pleasure. His cock was practically drooling pre-come now he was so keyed up. Sherlock swore he could feel his hole twitching with every slap. A quiet litany of _Please Sir_ was all that could be heard above the faint lashes of fine leather on flesh. 

John, however, was enjoying himself immensely watching Sherlock writhe. Miles of beautiful alabaster skin marred only by the colour gracing his cheekbones, throat, and mostly important his gorgeous arse. The teasing was all apart of the punishment for John; he relished in getting his subs to the point of begging before he really let them have it. 

"You _need_ more do you, boy? Do you deserve more?" Sherlock was almost devestated to hear Johns steady tone. The shame and humiliation he felt, however, only amplified his pleasure as he became painfully aware of how pathetic he sounded.

"I don't know, Sir, but I want it. Please!" He gasped. 

Without even a word from John, Sherlock felt the entire atmosphere change as the flogger was drawn back and then cut sharply through the air before it hit his flaming skin. 

"Ah!" The pain he felt upon impact flared and stung but he was immensely thankful for it as he felt his Earth still and the planets align, finally, after what felt like hours of swimming through glorious arousal.

After the first proper _thwack_ the doctor didn't let up; every time he drew the toy back he would let the anticipation build until it broke spectacularly upon the stinging contact with Sherlocks flesh. He wanted it to be felt for days. 

"Ah! Sir! Thank you Sir, thank you, thank you, thank you..." Sherlock was lost to the sensations, entirely mindless with pleasure-pain building to what could be a marvellous crescendo if not for the ring still trapping his cock. 

Soon his arousal became too much to bear; the flogging a delicious counterpart to the burning need he felt at the base of his spine through to his cock. "Sir! Sir, the ring, please I need to come!" 

John paused for a moment, "Do you think you've earned it?" 

Grateful for the brief respite from the haze he stammered out: "I-I hope I have, Sir."

"Hmm, I think you might've. You've been a _very_ good boy for me." Immediately, John saw how Sherlock preened under the praise. _Something to remember._

Setting the instrument down on one of the rosewood dressers, John took a moment to admire the picture before him: Sherlock with his wonderfully pink arse spread open for him, deep green winding around the smooth plaines of his taut chest and rolling valleys of his arms still clasped tightly across his arched back, cock hanging heavy and leaking between creamy thighs. 

Carefully, John got Sherlock to stand, mindful of how deep in subspace the boy was - going by the far-off look of pure bliss hidden behind thick lashes he'd be under for quite sometime still - and began to unlace the rope binding him. All the while, as every inch of skin was released, he would stroke over the soft marks that remained. 

"Now, beautiful, let Daddy take care of you," he murmured gently into Sherlocks ear as he laid him onto his back on the mattress. Sherlocks breath hitched as he allowed himself to indulge in the idea of having a Daddy to look after him. John noticed the small smile slowly pulling at Sherlocks lips. "Like that do you, sweetheart?" He earned a blush in return which Sherlock tried to hide by turning his face away slightly but his Daddy saw the effect it had on him from his cheekbones to his excited cock still entrapped by the metal ring. 

"Touch me please, Daddy," Sherlock begged, "I need it, I need _you._ "

"Well... as you asked so nicely." Then John grabbed Sherlocks cock roughly and twisted the ring off to begin tugging relentlessly at his shaft. Groans and bitten off whimpers filled the air and barely half a dozen pulls later Sherlock was spilling over Johns fist with a shout of, "Daddy!" 

John continued to stroke him through his orgasm keeping up with a low string of _Good boy_ 's and _Come for me baby_ 's.

When it was over, Sherlock lay panting, leaning into Johns shoulder and began to paw clumsily at the obvious bulge in Johns vaguely rumpled suit trousers. "Daddy... please, I want to see you."

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Rest now." Caressing his cheek, John lulled his boy into a doze enough that he could slip away from the warm body pressed against his and into the adjoining bathroom to wet a flannel. He came back to Sherlock to clean him off and press a kiss to his forehead. He'd attend to his abused skin in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? I'll definitely write more with these two, I bloody love Sugar Daddy John. Any ideas let me know!
> 
> Comments and kudos greatly appreciated :)
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://missleeismyname.tumblr.com/)


End file.
